


lime pink

by dude_dude_dude



Category: South Park RPF
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Fast Food, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Stomach Ache, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dude_dude_dude/pseuds/dude_dude_dude
Summary: “Oh.” Trey pouted and stared at his drink. “I uh, thought you were gonna like…” He gestured rubbing a circle on his stomach.Matt laughed. “Because I care so much about your digestion?”
Relationships: Trey Parker/Matt Stone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	lime pink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturni_stellis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/gifts).



“If you’re gonna eat like a pig do you have to wear my clothes?”

Trey sank his teeth into his second Big Mac and answered through a mouthful of bun and lettuce. “You want me to eat half-naked?” 

Matt shot him a look that said _you know that’s not what I meant_ and tried not to be obvious about watching Trey eat, for his shirt’s sake of course. Unlike Trey, he actually took care of his clothes. And unlike Trey, he could eat without slopping food all down himself. 

“Dude,” Trey whined, “you’re making me nervous.” He turned his back to Matt’s scrutiny as he polished off the burger only to root in the bag for another. Before opening the flimsy box, he swirled the last of his fries in what remained of the sweet and sour and shovelled them into his mouth. 

A dribble of sauce made its way down Trey’s chin, spurring Matt to throw a napkin at him before he wiped it on his shirt’s currently unscathed sleeve. 

“Should’ve got nuggets too,” Trey said, picking the pickles out of his burger like they were entrees, then licking his fingertips clean. 

They’d known each other far too long for Matt to be surprised by how much Trey could put away, but two large fries, three Big Macs, _and_ nuggets—no doubt in double digits—would’ve been pushing it. 

Matt’s concern for Trey’s health was cancelled out by how satisfied he looked while devouring whatever unhealthy thing was his literal flavour of the month. On their last trip to London it’d been those fried breakfasts served swimming in grease, where even the bread got the deep-fried treatment. McDonald’s was the most enduring of his addictions. The fact that he didn’t need to leave his car to get his hands on it didn’t help.

The day restaurants started home deliveries would be the day the fat guy inside Trey would finally burst out, like the dude who ate the w _a_ fer-thin mint in Monty Python’s _The Meaning of Life_ , though he was pretty fat to begin with. The calorie-burning effect of all-nighters wouldn’t save Trey forever though. At least Matt would get his shirts back once Trey couldn't squeeze into them anymore. 

The shirt Trey “borrowed” tonight wasn’t anything special, but Matt was reluctant to get rid of things that still fulfilled their function, even if they were shabby or out of fashion; Trey was the wasteful one who’d throw out a brand-new pair of jeans simply because he’d spilled ketchup on them. It was a perfectly good shirt, a silky lime-green number that made Trey’s tan look rosy pink in contrast, and it didn’t deserve getting ruined. As Trey slumped back, puffing out a breath he’d struggled to inhale, Matt noticed the buttons straining almost to the point of popping across Trey’s middle. 

“So fucking good,” Trey mumbled, his eyes rolling back in his skull as he sank into the couch. He reached out for the Dr. Pepper he got with his meal, almost knocking it from where it was propped dangerously on the arm. If it hadn’t had a lid on it, it would’ve sloshed everywhere. 

Matt winced and found himself staring at the strained buttons. Even without the threat of falling food, Trey could still ruin what was—now he’d been made to think about it—one of Matt’s favourite shirts. With Trey distracted with his drink and the opening credits of _The Daily Show_ , he reached across and unfastened the buttons having the hardest time holding Trey’s belly at bay. 

“What’re you doing?” Trey asked, noticeably pinker than a moment ago. 

“I actually like this shirt,” Matt said.

“Oh.” Trey pouted and stared at his drink. “I uh, thought you were gonna like…” He gestured rubbing a circle on his stomach. 

Matt laughed. “Because I care so much about your digestion?” 

“Shut up,” Trey said, stifling a burp with the back of his hand. 

Without the worry of his shirt getting ruined or half its buttons flying off, Matt felt content to focus on Jon Stewart’s droning. Bad move apparently, because what started as subtle grumbles of discomfort (that usually accompanied Trey’s overindulgence,) soon became the kind of insistent, pay-attention-to-me groans that almost exceeded the TV’s volume. Matt ignored them until Trey nudged him in the thigh. 

“What?” Matt snapped, throwing his hands up in defeat. 

In what was probably the whiniest voice ever, Trey said, “I feel sick.” 

Matt looked at him over his glasses. “No shit.” He toed the pile of empty Big Mac boxes at their feet as if to say, _could these have anything to do with it_? When he turned back to the TV, Trey nudged him again.

“My stomach hurts,” he said, in that same needy, pathetic voice.

Staring adamantly at the screen, Matt asked, “And what do you expect me to do about it?” If Trey couldn’t be bothered to drag himself to the bathroom to fetch his beloved Pepto, he’d have to sit and suffer. In silence preferably. 

Trey didn’t answer in words; he took Matt’s hand and placed it on his bloated stomach, resting it just above the patch of skin poking through the shirt’s unfastened buttons. It was obvious what he wanted, especially now that he couldn’t look Matt in the eye. Matt would’ve been shocked if Trey’s embarrassment wasn’t so endearing. 

“Really?” Matt asked. He gave Trey an incredulous look once he dared to meet his eyes, just to see him squirm.

Batting his eyelashes over what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes, Trey said, “I’ll be quiet if you do.” 

Tempting. Hard to believe, too. Though Matt would be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued. 

“That a promise?” Matt asked, already kneading fingertips into the green silk pulled taut over Trey’s podge. Treating him tenderly when he behaved like a baby—and not telling him to shut the fuck up—was something new. Probably why it appealed to him so much.

“Yeah,” Trey replied shakily, swallowing hard. He sank further into the couch cushions, immediately calmed by Matt’s touch. If it was this easy to stop him whinging, he might just make a habit of it.

As Matt rubbed small circles into the fabric, Trey exhaled heavily. A gentle press against the curve of his stomach proved how full he was, though he didn’t look uncomfortable. Fanning his fingers, Matt squeezed the bulk of his belly curiously. 

“Better?” he asked, pausing his hand’s motions.

“Not yet,” Trey rushed, like he was worried their petting session would end if he said anything but. A low relieved groan broke from his throat when Matt moved again, though it hitched when his hand slid through the gap in the buttons.

Trey’s bare skin was warm, and softer than he remembered. He pursed his lips when Trey arched against his hand and moaned under his breath as though Matt were stroking his cock and not his belly. It’d been a while since they’d screwed around or done anything in bed together besides collapse from exhaustion. Seeing Trey this blissed out—head tipped back, cheeks flushed, chewing the knuckle of one hand while the other fisted his jeans—was a shock to the system, brought memories flooding back that he thought he was well over by now... 

And it was fucking hot. 

“That’s nice,” Trey drawled, eyelids fluttering over closed eyes. He hummed in appreciation as Matt’s thumb traced his navel, then turned his head until their faces almost touched. 

Matt’s mouth went dry. Staring at Trey’s lips, he tried not to think about how easy it would be to lean in and make out with him like the old days. There was nothing stopping him, not really, but something in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t the best idea, even if he really, really wanted to.

With Trey’s hot breath flooding his lips, he kept staring, kept rubbing his hand in soothing circles. Trey whimpered, and _shit_ … he was getting stiff. By the way Trey had started shifting where he sat, he was probably in the same predicament. Matt slid his palm lower, hoping to find out. 

Before his hand could slip under the waist of Trey’s jeans it was shoved away by Trey sitting up sharply enough to knock his empty Dr. Pepper off the couch. He dug in the McDonald’s bag again, fishing about blindly before pulling out a sleeved apple pie like it was a bar of gold. 

“Fuck yeah!” Trey exclaimed, flipping the end open. “Can’t believe I forgot!” The moan he made through the soft crunch of his first bite rivalled any Matt’s attentions had caused.

“Guess I know where I stand,” Matt joked. He propped his ankle on his knee, hoping to disguise the bulge in his pants. 

It felt wrong to wish another stomach ache on Trey, but as he devoured the rest of the pie in three bites, Matt couldn’t help but hope.


End file.
